


The Woman

by Irene85



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Boarding School, Christmas, F/M, Not Canon Irene, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:43:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irene85/pseuds/Irene85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of The Woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Woman

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have no idea where this came from. I think this is sort of a prequel to one of the fics I'm trying desperately hard to write. *shrugs* IDEK. Unbeta'd quick fic.

Sherlock and Irene Holmes, at 17, were the youngest of the three Holmes siblings. Named after their great-grandparents, they were rarely from each other's side.

(The first time Mrs Holmes split them up was boarding school. The third day, the girls school in Wales called, frantic, because Irene wasn't there, that she'd disappeared in the night, that she'd taken everything with her. The Holmes were just trying to figure out how she'd managed that when a call came in from the boys school in Oxford the next day saying that a strange girl who looks exactly like their son was found in his bed that morning, her trunk and backpack next to the bed. Even as they interrogated the twins [The question that was definitely not the least on anyone's mind was how Irene had gotten her stuff into a room full of boys, some of whom admitted they were awake all night, without anyone noticing. Mycroft tended to be contemplative of her after that.] their hands stayed locked together. Mr and Mrs Holmes knew the battle was lost before it was begun and taken the headmaster out of the room and gotten them one of the guest suites, with two bedrooms and a living quarters. If occasionally one of the beds wasn't slept in, the maids never mentioned.)

Whenever the twins were home, especially for Christmas break, the Holmes would have a big party and invite everybody. Sherlock'd be in a suit in varying blacks and greys with a red tie that was festive while still showing off the fact that the gangly, awkward kid was becoming handsome enough for everyone to ignore how weird he was. Irene'd be in something red and flattering, the corset back lacing comfortably along her spine, sending somewhat the same message. Sherlock's hand is pale against the small of her back, her lips matching her dress as she laughs at whatever he whispered in her ear.

(In some ways, it's perfect. They're twins; they understand each other better than anyone else ever will, and they're obviously related, of course they love each other. Even one of the esteemed Holmes' would never guess.)

One thing everyone says, in varying ways;

"You're so lucky to have a twin. I wish I was close to someone like you. And you can share cloths, too!"

They never guessed what happened after the party finished and everyone went home, when the Holmes went to bed with promises to wake up sometime before noon the next day to open presents.

When Irene and Sherlock filed back to their room and closed (and locked) their door. When Irene turns to Sherlock in the middle of the room, reeled him in with his tie, and kisses him, index finger sticking into the knot to help loosen it as she tugs him closer.

(He's slightly taller, but she wears heels.)

Sherlock wraps his arm around her waist, his hands stark against the red fabric, and smiles into the kiss when Irene's other hand started undoing the buttons on his vest.

(She's ambidextrous. They both are.)

Five minutes later, Sherlock's down to his button up (half undone and pulled out of his pants) his belt halfway across the room, and Irene's dress was coming loose, pushed up against the nearest wall. Irene pulled at his shirt, letting it fall away, her other hand tangling with his curls. The hand that'd discarded his shirt traveled down his torso and deftly unbuttons his pants. He tugs her forward, gasping into her mouth, her dress falling; pooling to her feet. She's wearing silk lingerie and 6 inch heels and Sherlock groaned as his hand traveled down her spine, reveling in the skin. She shivered, and pushed him back toward the bed, pupils blown wide as he bounced onto the messed-up blankets.

(Irene is already good at stealing; she shoplifts condoms. She's also good at hiding them; the maids, who know all secrets, never find them.)

He's all but naked when she finally (finally _finally_ ) straddled his hips, her lips twisted in a evil smile, Sherlock narrowed his eyes up at her.

"I really hate you." Her lips opened into a grin, and she leaned over him, hands braced on either side of his head. She rolled her hips, her mouth opening slightly at his groan.

"No, you don't." Sherlock looks up at his beautiful sister, lips still red, eyes still lined black, blue, blue eyes glittering down at him, and smiles.

(Sherlock knows that, to the rest of the world, this isn't considered right or acceptable. That he shouldn't be the one who knows what his sister looks like like this. Irene knows it, too, just changing the pronouns. That just means they don't tell them.

Because what the rest of the world doesn't know is that they're right. Sherlock and Irene are closer than any of them will ever be with anyone else. And what they do? Isn't because they love each other like a couple. It's because they love each other, and the way they see it, they're showing affection in a way that they find works best for them.

It makes sense to them. They really don't give a damn what you think.)

"No, I don't." Irene's smile turned affectionate and she leaned down, kissing him.

(As they grow up, Irene takes on her great-grandmother's maiden name. The rest of the Holmes' think this is amusing, though Sherlock's reason is slightly different from everyone else's. Sherlock becomes a consulting detective. And if a certain black clad figure slips into a certain consultant's window, no one ever saw.)

**Author's Note:**

> Irene's Dress and Shoes:
> 
> http://flirtprom.com/Collection/P1503
> 
> http://us.christianlouboutin.com/us_en/shop/women/n-prive-patent.html


End file.
